


Anonymous Wrote a Lot of Books

by Dawnwind



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:56:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle finds that Reading porn whilst doing the laundry leads to some interesting predicaments. Contains consensual bondage and kink--do not read if this offends you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anonymous Wrote a Lot of Books

When he joined CI5, Raymond Doyle expected adventure, action and a great deal of  
running about. He got all that in spades.

What he didn't anticipate was that one of his favourite parts of the week would be waiting  
for his clothes to dry in the basement of an old Victorian manor house that had been  
converted into flats. He liked having control over the washing of his own clothes.

Too many times in the past, he'd taken his clothes to some enterprising laundress, only to  
be called away by Alpha One, and discover weeks later that he'd forgotten to pick up his  
laundry. Or had to move suddenly and abandon all possessions because the security of  
the current flat had been compromised.

Or simply that he'd misplaced his laundry ticket.

He'd lost more shirts and underclothes that way.

Number sixteen Lily Close was situated on the end of a curved street with a fenced in  
garden across the way. It had the facade fashionable one hundred years ago, a miniscule  
lobby that had once been guarded by some stone faced butler, a narrow stairway up to  
Doyle's first floor flat, and a dank, dark cellar lined with bricks. One of the past  
inhabitants had installed a small washing machine and a dryer where wine was once kept.  
Both machines had seen their better days: the washer spit water out the back like a  
demented fountain longing to be featured in some ornamental garden. The dryer clanked  
and shook with enough force to propel itself across the damp stone floor the entire length  
of its electrical cord.

Doyle rarely paid much attention. For just over an hour, he indulged in a clandestine past  
time—reading dirty novels. He'd first come across the illicit scribblings of the prodigious,  
if unnamed author when he was kicking around London during his art school days.  
During forays into old bookstores for inexpensive art tomes, he'd stumbled across the  
erotica sections—usually situated in some out of the way corner of the store, behind a  
massive bookshelf and guarded by unpacked boxes of mouldy first editions from estate  
sales.

Doyle had dived into the smut with the enthusiasm of a student studying for his O levels.  
Had there been a lit class for Anonymous et al, Doyle would have abandoned his life  
drawing classes with the lithesome nude models. Well, perhaps not the ogling of nubile  
young students earning a few quid showing off their assets to the art students, but he  
certainly would have made room in his curriculum for the study of novels featuring  
spanking, bondage and lots of randy Viscounts and Lords pandering their way around  
Victorian England.

In his early years as a copper, he'd curtailed his interest in the more pornographic titles  
and channelled his reading into loftier pursuits such as historical works on Marx and the  
philosophy of socialism. However, the glee of diving into a dirty novel never went away.  
Now working a job where he regularly confronted death, he felt he'd earned the right to a  
little indulgence every once in a while. If that was frequently accompanied by the odd  
fantasy where his partner was substituted for certain characters in the books, all the  
better.

The dungeon-like atmosphere of the tiny launderette was the perfect place to settle back  
in the fusty wingback chair with the rickety leg. He sat down with an Anonymous penned  
novel in hand, perfectly content. The other tenant rarely used the washing facilities, and  
Doyle didn't anticipate anything to ruin his quiet afternoon of reading.

Doyle was deep into the misadventures of lovely Lizzie who was the interested witness to  
some very sordid activities of a British gentlemen in a Persian harem, when the hair on  
the back of his neck stood up. Between wheezing blasts from the dryer, he heard a  
furtive sound, the scuff of a shoe on warped wooden floorboards.

Someone was on the stairs. Someone who was walking far too carefully to be the owner  
of the building, a loquacious old biddy who carried a yappy dog with her. Or the second  
floor tenant, old Mr. Halloran, who had a gammy leg from his days in WWII. The third  
floor flat was empty and had been for some time. Ray stiffened, tucking the book into the  
side of the chair and reaching for the holster that was usually buckled under his left arm.

Except for today, since he'd left his pistol up in the flat, ready to be taken apart and  
cleaned. The next item on his list of chores.

The dryer was still making far too much noise for Doyle to hear the intruder well, but he  
didn't dare turn the clanking machine off. That would only establish that he was aware of  
the trespasser, and he needed the element of surprise on his side.

There was nowhere to hide in the narrow room. The washer and dryer took up half the  
width, leaving only enough space for the chair and a small open area for someone to  
stand folding their clothes, as long as they used the top of the washing machine as a  
folding table.

Not a single thing to use as a weapon, either, unless he tossed washing powder at the  
prowler. Persil to the eyes—quite possibly effective for the short term. Then he could  
subdue whomever it was with a few martial arts moves. Doyle grabbed the box and slid  
behind the still rocking dryer, wedging himself against the wall alongside the open door.  
The hallway was dark and angled off to the right. He couldn't see anyone, nor could he  
hear the footsteps anymore.

Did he imagine a faint intake of breath? Who would be coming down here, and why?  
There was no back door from the basement, and nothing worth stealing. He was just  
about to leap out and confront the stealthy intruder when an all too familiar voice called  
out.

"Doyle? Where the bloody hell are you?"

"Jesus Christ!" Doyle groaned, dropping the Persil down on the top of the dryer. "Bodie,  
back here."

An elongated shadow preceded Bodie down the hall, looming up the back wall, caused by  
the single bulb all the way back at the main stairwell. "Practicing your lurking in gloomy  
mausoleums, are you, sunshine?" Bodie asked pleasantly. "Like a crypt down here."

"A crypt would contain bodies." Doyle was somewhat disconcerted to have Bodie invade  
his refuge. Not unhappy, far from it. Just surprised, since the last he'd heard, Bodie was  
spending the day with Julia. "Or, at the very least, coffins. Alas, all we have here are  
clean clothes." As if waiting for its cue, the dryer gave a last dramatic heave, straining the  
tether that kept it plugged into the wall socket. It shuddered to a stop. "What are you  
doing here? The Cow send out for the troops?"

"Never fear, you're still free to fritter away your day off with domestic duties." Bodie  
dropped into the wingback chair, and draped one leg over the armrest. "Went up to your  
flat, but no one was about. Met a Mrs. Pepperpot clutching a large rat on the stair, said  
you were washing your unmentionables." He waved a hand at the launderette.

"That's not a rat, it's a Yorkie." Doyle pulled the warm, fragrant clothes out of the dryer  
and dumped them on top of the washer.

"Looked like a rat to me."

"Obviously you've never been to Crufts." Doyle smiled, shaking out a t-shirt to fold it  
neatly. _How did Bodie make every single moment of his life more fun?_

"Watch daft old sods parade around a ring with their canine twins? Not on your life, my  
son. Got better things to do with my time, like going to the pub. Which reminds me…"  
Bodie squirmed, twisting slightly to find a more comfortable position, He finally brought  
his leg down to investigate what it was that must have been poking him in the bum.

Doyle groaned inwardly, turning to face the washing machine as if he had to focus all his  
attention on folding laundry.

"'Ello, 'ello, what is this?"

Doyle didn't have to look to know exactly what Bodie had found. His partner was a  
trained agent, proficient in the art of detecting and interrogating a suspect. Once Bodie  
discovered the novel's storyline, he would launch a thorough and highly embarrassing  
line of inquiry.

"My, my Raymond," Bodie said, mischievous glee evident in his tone. "What have you  
been reading?"

"I s'pose you wouldn't believe me if I disavowed all knowledge of the book?" Doyle  
leaned against the washing machine, resigned to the teasing in store. Bodie would milk  
this for all it was worth.

"Evoking a Watergate defence? How very transcontinental of you." Bodie settled back in  
the chair, his leg once again draped over the arm, and flipped through the novel. His  
quirked brow went even higher than usual and he barked a raunchy laugh at some  
passage. "That Charles does have his fun. Lizzie should watch more than just the  
concubines in the harem. She's due for a buggery of her own soon enough."

"You've read Beauty in the Birch?" He was surprised. Bodie seemed more the adult  
movie sort, when he was without a willing partner. Which wasn't often.

"I'll have you know that I happen to be a connoisseur of the classics." Bodie had such a  
smug grin on his face that Doyle was tempted to wipe it off, with a good right cross.  
"This one looks well-thumbed." He held the book in one hand so that it opened  
automatically where the spine was cracked. "Seems to me that our Ray likes the…"

"I'll have that!" Doyle snatched the book and stuffed it into the bottom of his laundry  
basket, piling half folded clothes on top.

"What I'm even more interested is…" Bodie stood languidly, insinuating himself into  
Doyle's space. "Have you ever acted out any of the scenes described in the book?"

Trapped with the washing machine behind him and Bodie standing far too close, Doyle  
felt a sudden panic, but ruthlessly squashed it. He had nothing to fear from his partner.  
Bodie was only winding him up, nothing more. He wasn't implying a thing. "Not likely,  
mate. My last bird was a real lady."

"Emphasis on the Lady part." Bodie trapped his finger on Doyle's chest. "How you ever  
got yourself a little bit of the aristocracy is beyond me. Not hard to guess why there was  
only the one outing." He reached past Doyle to the heap of clothes and plucked out  
something made of stretchy cotton. "D'you buy everything at the bloody heart foundation  
jumble sale, or Marks and Sparks?"

"Strange kink you have, fondling men's underpants." Doyle made to take them back, but  
Bodie danced out of his way.

"Ah, the subject at hand, as it were," Bodie chortled. "Did you ever read the one where  
the titled gent was having his way with a tart called Lesley? Had a round bum, she did,  
and he'd tied her over a vaulting horse, given her a couple smacks with a…"

"Yes," Doyle said. He was unaccountably annoyed, his anger rising along with a vivid  
heat from his groin. _What the hell?_

"And?" Bodie cocked his head like an interested pup.

"Yes, I've read the bloody book. So've you, from the sound of it. You must've started  
with A on the bookstore shelves and never got any further."

"Ah, but I have." Bodie had shifted very subtly so that he blocked the entry to the narrow  
room. "Gone all the way to M for Marquis de Sade and O for Story of."

"O didn't write—" Doyle knew he'd put his foot in it now.

"I stand corrected, you are so right. That one belongs under R." Bodie lightly bounced the  
underpants in his hand. "Getting back to the subject."

"Pornographic novels?"

"Under garments," Bodie specified. "Acting out scenes. The like." One corner of his  
mouth curled up, mocking and yet seductive.

Doyle sucked in a breath, hit with the full sensuous heat of his partner. Bodie never  
ceased to surprise him. The man could make jokes in the most dangerous situations, but  
there was no one better at his back in a firefight. He'd noticed Bodie's earthy sexuality  
from the very first day they met. Seen how Bodie seemed to fill a room, as he did now,  
exuding an erotic seduction that clouded the senses.

"Bodie."

"You remember what happened when Lesley complained about how Sir-whatever-his-  
name-was treated her?"

The reason for the underpants became clear, and Doyle suddenly saw what was about to  
happen as if he'd developed precognition. The suggestion that he might agree to such  
kinky practices would normally have sparked his temper, and the bloke doing the  
suggesting would have ended up with a broken nose. That he didn't move, didn't put his  
fist into Bodie's teasing grin, spoke volumes. Reading his partner's intentions had never  
been easier or more perfectly clear.

"'E put 'em in her mouth," Doyle said finally, his tongue dry against the roof of his  
mouth. He could almost feel something pushed between his teeth, and fought the twin  
urges to flee and to beg Bodie to do something, do anything, to relieve the pulsing need  
shoved up against the zip in his jeans.

"Gagged her with a pair of knickers." Bodie's gaze dropped from Doyle's face, travelling  
ever so slowly down his body, pausing for long, breathless moments at his groin before  
sliding down to his feet.

The breathless one was Doyle, because he could see Bodie breathing just fine. Saw his  
chest rise and fall, heard the sharp intake of his breath when he looked provocatively at  
Ray's erection, and felt the sharp, gorgeous want coming off him.

 _Bodie wanted him._

Bodie wanted him bent over, arse in the air, gagged.

Doyle met Bodie's eyes when they'd made it back to his face once again, and then boldly  
dropped his own to check out what Bodie was offering. His black cords were straining  
over his groin, the warm, throbbing mound between his legs one of the most beautiful  
things Doyle had ever seen.

"Ray," Bodie said.

For a moment Doyle didn't know how to reply. Was he really about to…submit like some  
wasp-waisted maiden kneeling before her master? "I'm no actor," he said inanely.

"Don't expect Olivier, Ray." Bodie's voice caressed his innermost desires, stroked him  
with velvety softness. Assuring that no matter what happened after this point, Bodie  
would never hurt him. He somehow knew what Doyle wanted. Had ferreted out that deep  
dark secret that Doyle had never let himself voice except for those fantasies after reading  
one of Anonymous' novels. "I only want natural, honest reactions."

"Yeah." That was obvious. Both of them were so hard that Doyle wasn't sure he could get  
his jeans off without injuring delicate parts of his anatomy.

"What do you want?" Bodie hadn't moved but Doyle could feel him, around him, through  
him, inside him.

The very idea sent tendrils of stark arousal skittering down his spine. Bodie pushing  
through, going deep to his core until the two of them melded together.

"You."

"Yeah, I'd sussed that one out on me own, sunshine." Bodie took a step forward to lay his  
fingers alongside Ray's right cheek and gently trace the misalignment.

"That why you came down here?" He was light-headed, all the blood going south with  
amazing speed.

"Julia and I had a row. Where else would I go when after that?"

Anger flash-burned through him, leaving devastation in its wake, completely destroying  
his arousal. Doyle snarled, jerking away from the hand on his cheek so quickly that he  
slammed into the dryer and shoved it back several inches. "Second pickings, am I? Good  
enough for a wank and a grope, never mind…."

"That what you think?" Bodie roared right back, grabbing at his arms as if he meant  
shake some sense into Doyle.

This time Doyle did pull back his fist, ready to cold-cock his oppo. Bodie caught his fist  
in a hard hand, averting the punch. He held firm, all his muscle pitted against Doyle's  
anger enhanced strength. They were almost perfectly matched, balanced on a knife edge,  
both staring into each others eyes. The intensity was palpable, a physical thing that  
flowed back and forth between them, licking the flames of desire that had ever so briefly  
banked.

"Ray," Bodie said quietly, with a power so captivating that Doyle shuddered, all anger  
forgotten.

 _God, he was ready to go down on his knees and do whatever this man wanted._

"Do you agree to this?" Bodie asked.

There was no need to explain what he meant; as if in that long moment, pitted against  
each other and yet joined together, they'd spoken without words. Exchanged philosophies  
and become all the stronger for that union.

"Yeah," Doyle breathed out, sure he could foresee every single thing that would happen  
next, and terrified that he couldn't anticipate one of Bodie's actions.

Bodie still held the underpants crushed in his hand. He gifted his partner with a wicked  
grin and nodded just once.

Doyle opened his mouth—to speak, or to accept what was being offered--he wasn't sure  
until words started pouring out as if he'd opened a dam. "Oy, I just washed those, y'know.  
And they'll never stay in on their own, I could just spit 'em out with my tongue. This is no  
place to do…it. Public, innit? Anyone can walk in. We should go upstairs, to the  
bedroom…"

Bodie popped the white cotton into Doyle's mouth so suddenly there was an audible pop  
when his palm connected with Doyle's lips. "Should have gagged you long ago,  
Raymond," Bodie said archly. "And you're right again, you probably could push that 'em  
out easy enough, so we'll have to be a bit more creative."

Twisting just enough to put up the illusion of a fight, Doyle was so turned on that he  
could have orgasmed just from the insertion of the damned gag.

Bodie kept his prisoner pinned against the dryer by jamming his legs hard against the  
outside of Doyle's thighs, his cock practically coring through his black trousers to greet  
its playmate. With one hand wrapped around Doyle's face to keep the makeshift gag in  
place, Bodie used the other to unbuckle Doyle's belt and slide it out of the belt loops.

"Belts have a multitude of uses, they hold up your jeans—" He chuckled, leering at his  
partner's prominent display. "Although, in your case, I don't think there's any possible  
way for these things ever to fall down. Molded to your skin, they have."

Doyle made a muffled protest. This had surely gone too far. He wasn't about to tolerate a  
belt tight around his head, forcing his jaw wide, the cotton soaking all the moisture out of  
his mouth. He moaned.

Bodie eyed him speculatively, blue eyes alert. Doyle could read him as if the words were  
printed directly onto his brain. Was this too much?

Could they go on, or was the gag enough for the first time?

 _The first time._ Because there was absolutely no question that there would be future  
encounters of—what was this called? Kink? Bondage? Something far more perverted?

Doyle held himself still, assenting to whatever Bodie wanted to dish out.

"Ah, pet, I think you like this." Bodie licked his own lips and let the leather end of the  
belt brush the front of Doyle's strained jeans.

The tiny point of contact was like a fuse igniting a row of firecrackers up the length of  
Doyle's body. He panted, about to spit out the gag when Bodie drew the belt up the length  
of his body in one fast motion so that the tail flicked against his flat abdomen with little  
snaky licks.

Before Doyle could turn his head, spit out the cloth and tell Bodie that this was all going  
way too fast, Bodie had wrapped the belt around his head, twice, and buckled it tightly in  
his nest of curls.

"Beautiful," Bodie said, awe evident in the way he looked at Doyle. He caressed Ray's  
cheek again, trailing his fingers down to push gently on the leather band wedged between  
his teeth. "Hurts, doesn't it? Just enough to leave you on edge…"

 _How did he know?_

How did Bodie know everything about it? How did he know how it felt?

Doyle hitched a breath, fighting a tiny panic that told him he needed the thing out of his  
mouth, now! The cotton touched the back of his throat, activating his gag reflex, and the  
leather pinched the edges of his mouth, forcing his mouth too wide. His jaw ached  
already and yet nothing else mattered when Bodie kissed him—first on his damaged  
cheekbone and then on his bottom lip, biting down ever so gently.

Desire swamped him, the sharp force of Bodie's teeth a perfect counterpoint to the ache  
from his jaw. For the first time, Doyle really understood the phenomenon described in all  
his favorite erotic novels; pain/pleasure. Absolute bliss spiraled through him.

"Such fun, Raymond," Bodie whispered into his mouth, licking Doyle's lips, soothing the  
tiny pain he'd bestowed and providing moisture, too. "We can have such fun. There's  
more where this came from."

His thoughts already clouded with too much stimuli, Doyle didn't have the slightest idea  
what Bodie was going on about. _More?_ What could possibly top this?

The snick of handcuffs answered his question. Bodie had moved back, his body no longer  
barricading Doyle against the dryer. He held the open metal cuffs out, a gift to be  
accepted or rejected.

Doyle struggled to get himself under some kind of control. He hadn't imploded yet, but it  
was a close thing. If Bodie came near his groin one more time, he could not be held  
responsible for what would happen next.

But handcuffs?

He swayed without Bodie's legs holding him upright and raised his eyes to meet  
his…master's. Saw Bodie's love shining through, the essence of his partner always the  
same no matter what they were involved in. Bodie respected his opinion and would never  
force him into anything he didn't ultimately agree to. Doyle nodded, trying to bite down  
on the wad keeping his jaw wide.

He must look like a berk, but Bodie's eyes told him otherwise. Bodie was practically  
salivating just looking at him, gag and all.

"Glad you see it my way," Bodie said cheerfully, clicking each metal circlet snugly  
around Doyle's wrists. "Raise 'em up now, love, and we'll loop the chain over that hook  
there, in the corner. Probably meant to hold up a couple of hangers, it'd better take your  
weight."

The hook was embedded in solid brick and mortar; it easily supported the bound man.  
With his arms suspended above him, Doyle felt especially vulnerable. He still had his  
feet—he could kick out if he had to, but he was at an angle to the washer and just as apt  
to ram his foot into the hard metal side as to hit Bodie.

Besides, he didn't want to push Bodie away. Not for a million years as long as he kept up  
what he was doing.

"You're wearing too many clothes. We could just take these off—" Bodie neatly  
unbuttoned Doyle's dark blue shirt, exposing his chest. "Well, well, well—no way to get  
the shirt all the way off without ripping it in two, is there?"

"Bodie!" Doyle attempted in outrage. Of course, it came out a muffled protest,  
completely unintelligible and made his throat hurt, to boot.

"No matter. Won't destroy your wardrobe—yet." Bodie laughed, trailing his fingertips  
across the gold chain Ray wore around his neck. "Always liked this. Bloody gorgeous  
against your skin." He bent, almost in worship, and touched his lips to Doyle's  
collarbone, leaving a long warm swath.

As much as it made sense to fight his bondage, to try to escape, the way he had every  
other time he'd been trussed up, Doyle didn't move. He took the kisses Bodie bestowed  
on his chest. He trembled because Bodie trailed his fingers lightly over his nipples,  
turning them into hard nubs and then slowly ran the flat of his hand down Doyle's belly to  
the waistband of his jeans.

"Looks like there's a problem here," Bodie said conversationally as if he wasn't giving  
Doyle the most luxurious torture ever devised. He attempted to wedge his fingers  
between the jeans and Doyle's skin, a tight squeeze made almost impossible by the  
swelling of certain parts of Doyle's anatomy.

Doyle moaned, impatient now, ready for more action than he was getting. He bucked his  
hips, which sent jolts of half-pain up his imprisoned arms, but in no way dissuaded his  
incredible want.

"Our Raymond's randy this morning," Bodie observed with glee. He undid the button and  
edged the zip down one tooth at a time until Doyle was sure he was going to yell with  
frustration. No doubt exactly why Bodie had gagged him.

After endless seconds, Doyle's cock escaped the slit in his underpants like an acrobat  
performing a leap. It bobbed hopefully but didn't get a bit of satisfaction from Bodie.

Instead, Bodie stepped back and took off his shirt, dropping it onto the wingback chair  
with a little flourish. It wasn't until he unfastened his trousers very slowly that Doyle  
realised that the silent striptease was for him.

Impossibly, even with the gag in, his mouth watered. Bodie was a sight— the muscles in  
his broad shoulders bunching and smoothing as he bent to pull down his zip. The tip of  
his tongue peeked out between his lips and his pectorals swelled when he inhaled just as  
he liberated his own cock.

Doyle would have sworn his erection couldn't get any bigger, but he swelled right along  
with Bodie's inhalation. When Bodie exhaled and looked up to catch sight of his prisoner,  
Doyle felt his balls tighten up, throbbing with the need to release.

"Not quite yet, all in good time." Bodie grinned, pinching the top of Doyle's penis. "No  
patience at all, have you?'

 _Bloody hell—_ did Bodie think he was some kind of chaste saint? Fucking unlikely. There  
was time for waiting and there was a time for fucking, thank you very much. This was  
very much the latter. Doyle's whole body jerked when Bodie tightened his fingers around  
his genitals, sweat breaking out along his back and soaking through his shirt. He panted,  
his breath harsh with the gag in the way.

 _Please, Bodie…_

Bodie's dark blue eyes glittered, an almost wicked gleam lighting up the depths. He held  
up his hands like a conjuror and stepped back as far as possible, against the appliances.  
"Nothing up my sleeve!" He shucked his trousers down his shapely legs and cast them  
aside. "Hey, presto." Bodie's tongue appeared again, caressing his lower lip as he began  
to fist his own cock, slowly at first and then with a faster pace.

Doyle didn't want to blink. He didn't want to miss a moment of the glorious show. This  
was far, far better than any dirty book ever. Live and in person, in his laundry room. He  
tugged on his bound arms, absolutely needing to get them unfettered so that he could  
service his own cock. Had to be easy enough. He'd gotten his cuffed hands up there under  
his own steam. Bodie had only guided him onto the hook, and there was nothing keeping  
the chain in place.

The task proved impossible. Either Doyle was too transfixed by Bodie's raunchy display  
or he'd got the chain hopelessly caught on the curve of the hook. Either way, he only  
ended up with sore wrists, and nearly missed the climax of the performance.

Which demanded his whole, undivided attention.

Bodie's neck was thrown back, he was obviously on the very brink. He glistened with  
sweat, right hand pumping his cock, left hand cupped around his sac, rolling his balls like  
a gambler about to throw a lucky seven.

Doyle felt need crawling up his spine, felt Bodie twitch and shudder when his orgasm hit,  
and howled inarticulately when his partner went limp in the aftermath.

Bodie sprawled back against the washer, his gorgeous eyes half-lidded and heavy. His  
full bottom lip was bright red where he'd bit down when he came.

Doyle had never wanted him more and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

"Damn." Bodie regarded him with those sensuous eyes and Doyle would have sworn he  
was scalded from the fire that licked his body. "You're half way there, and I haven't done  
a thing yet. You were born for this, you randy little git." He inhaled again and Doyle's  
cock twitched with hope. "Ah, so much faith…" Bodie said quietly, suddenly serious. "So  
much trust, Raymond." He put his hand flat against Doyle's sternum, over his heart. "You  
trust me?"

Doyle nodded, completely under Bodie's spell. He would never had agreed to any of this  
otherwise. Trust? He would give his life for this man in a single heartbeat.

"That time, when I found you on the floor, bleeding…" His voice caught, a minute  
glimpse of the inner Bodie, before he went on. "I felt for your heartbeat, just like this."  
He slid two fingers up to Doyle's carotid.

Doyle felt his pulse pounding against the press of his partner's fingers and shut his eyes,  
as close to bliss as he had ever been. He wanted to stay like this forever.

Bodie bent, his lips replacing his fingers and kissed Doyle on the neck, sucking gently.  
"You'll never know what it did to me to know you were still alive."

 _I do._ Doyle thought.

"A collar, right here." Bodie said, drawing a line around Doyle's neck with the tip of his  
forefinger. "Black leather, sleek, none of those spikes or adornments."

Yeah. He could almost feel the close fit, snug against his Adam's apple, reinforcing his  
status whenever he swallowed.

 _Please, Bodie. Soon._

Sketching both hands along Doyle's uplifted ribcage to his armpits and then to his wrists,  
Bodie matched his lover's pose, aligning their bodies perfectly. "It's your turn now," he  
whispered, grinding his pelvis into Doyle's.

Doyle gasped, bright sparks exploding behind his eyelids. He shuddered, every fibre of  
his being aroused. He was a firecracker with a lit fuse about to take off. The whet of  
Bodie's penis on his was fantastic, like a drug he was immediately addicted to.

 _Faster, faster, faster,_ pounded in his brain.

Just as he opened his eyes to see the rapture on Bodie's face, to see what this incredible  
high was doing to him, Doyle came, bombs detonating throughout his body, sending  
fizzling sparklers to all twenty fingers and toes. He trembled, barely able to breathe  
around the gag.

He heard Bodie laugh, a joyous thing that sweetened his orgasm all the more.

"Enough of this, then, eh?" Bodie gently unbuckled the belt and eased it from around  
Doyle's head.

Doing the rest on his own, Doyle managed to spit the sodden cotton wad out and sucked  
in air, giddy with the freedom to do so. His arms almost hurt less now that he could  
breathe. "Thirsty, mate," he croaked.

"Got the best shag of your life and you're off to the pub, thanks all the same?" Bodie  
played all wounded pride with the consummate skill of a panto actor.

"You're brilliant," Doyle dead-panned with a bit of a snarl. "Lemme down before I aim  
something between your biscuits and cheese that'll have you wishing you never met me,  
Bodie!"

"There's the sunshine that brightens me day." Bodie aimed a kiss at Doyle, and despite  
his threats, it was Doyle who went weak in the knees.

He hung by his wrists, taking Bodie in, exploring the inner secrets of his warm mouth and  
moist, luscious tongue, distracted by the sheer erotic sensuality of his partner. The agony  
in his arms, shoulders and back weren't worth a quid when he could kiss Bodie for as  
long and as deeply as he wanted.

Because he'd wanted to, very possibly for years. He sublimated that desire, yielding to  
any other activity with Bodie, as long as he could be with Bodie, because it was almost as  
good as submitting to his partner. Having Bodie take him, just as he had now.

Bodie grabbed Doyle behind the neck to pull him impossibly closer which wrenched  
Doyle's already sore arms past endurance.

"Get me down, Bodie!" Doyle put emphasis on the second syllable, jerking his cuffed  
hands against the brick wall. "Now!"

"No need to get all shirty. No patience, that's your problem," Bodie said in a light,  
goading fashion designed to put Doyle right back into a receptive mood. It took all of  
Doyle's strength to resist, which left him grouchy. Luckily, Bodie fished the key out of  
his trousers pocket, unlocking the handcuffs in seconds.

Easing his aching arms down, Doyle shook the circulation back into his hands, leaning  
against the wall. "How'd you know?"

"Know?" Bodie cocked his head like a knowing magpie, eyes bright, and pulled on his  
trousers.

"About this?" Now that they weren't playing any longer, Doyle felt cack-handed. Should  
he pretend this hadn't been a life altering event? That it was just another round in the  
Bodie and Doyle puppet show? "About me," he added, awkwardly zipping his jeans.  
"Wasn't just finding the book."

"No." Bodie leaned against the washer, absently folding a pale green t-shirt. "Africa," he  
said finally.

"That's no answer," Doyle retorted angrily, pretending to concentrate on getting his shirt  
buttoned up correctly. Surprisingly difficult with fingers that were as thick and  
uncoordinated as a couple of sausages.

"It is." Bodie folded another t-shirt, his tongue making a reappearance. "I was young,  
when I went to Africa. Willing to experiment. Had quite the education in the art of…the  
erotic arts."

"S and M, the last time I heard." Doyle snatched away another pair of his underpants and  
hefted the laundry basket. "What made you think that I…"

"Can read you, can't I?"

"Not…" His reply was muffled when Bodie tapped two fingers down on his lips, sealing  
them together.

"It's what you want, Raymond, innit?" Bodie's voice was pure sex, smooth as a Cadbury's  
Dairy milk, and hard as granite. "What you always wanted, from the first."

"Yeah," Doyle breathed out, starved for more of what Bodie would feed him, and it had  
only been minutes since his last meal.

"Then it's down to the pub, and after, I know an out of the way shop." Bodie took the  
laundry basket with a smirk. "After you."

"Oh, just lovely, I can see where this is going." Doyle lead the wall down the corridor to  
the stairs. "You think you'll be getting your way all the time now."

"I don't expect miracles, never have."

Doyle glanced back and had the distinct urge to wipe the insouciant grin off Bodie's face  
with a quick rabbit punch. That he didn't was a miracle in itself. That what he wanted was  
to kneel down on the cold stone of the basement stair and beg Bodie to collar him scared  
him silly. He hitched a breath, the tingling in his wrists and fingers, the ache in his jaw  
potent reminders of what he'd just had—and what he could have again. Was he man  
enough to submit?

Finding himself at the door of his flat without much memory of having climbed up the  
staircase was a mite disconcerting, but the saucy, ripe anticipation in Bodie's eyes told  
him all he needed to know. He didn't even have to say anything else. He'd already agreed.

"Got a key?" Bodie asked.

For the handcuffs? Doyle thought improbably, still in the mindset of their game. "Not me,  
mate."

"Your door key?" Bodie patted him down with ticklish fingers, digging two into Doyle's  
front pockets, perilously close to his suddenly re-awakened cock. "Don't know how you  
breathe in these tight jeans, pet. The view's a treat, mind you."

"Get your hands off!" Doyle protested, his usual bristly nature reasserting itself. Could he  
really survive submitting to Bodie without killing his partner?

"Hey, presto." Bodie held the object of his search aloft and inserted it into the keyhole.

Gathering the few brain cells that hadn't completely succumbed to the lure of kink, Doyle  
put down the laundry basket and stepped back, away from temptation. "Wait a minute for  
rational thought here."

"Logic at this late date, Ray?"

"Bound to crop up sooner or later."

"Puns, too. What next?" Bodie leaned against the wall, Doyle's usual pose, serene and at  
ease, apparently willing to wait out Doyle's crisis of conscience.

Bloody nerve. He held the upper hand from the very beginning.

"Wasn't meant to be a pun," Doyle said petulantly. The words were seared in his thoughts  
for always. He was smitten—that was all there was to it. Caught in Bodie's web and  
being inexorably drawn in. Not against his will, not at all. Just against his own damned  
self-esteem. He wanted this like he'd never wanted anything before. He just…

Doyle smacked the wall and Bodie came to attention, ever the military man. It was all or  
nothing time.

"Not wearing a bloody corset, you understand? No fishnet tights. No sweet transvestite  
from Transylvania."

"You want to feel dirty, Raymond?" Bodie smiled. "I know just where to start."

FIN


End file.
